


Not Like This

by lizleenimbus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Cliche, Confessions, Dean under a Spell, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Spell, M/M, No Sex, Post-Case Fic, Second Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tropes, Very fluffy, canonverse, short fic, ust gets resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizleenimbus/pseuds/lizleenimbus
Summary: Thanks to some dude in a toga, Dean finds himself with an itch he can't scratch. He's wounded, feverish, antsy and finds himself forced to confront long-buried feelings in the least dignified way possible. Y'know, just another day on the job.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 36
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I debated posting this for a while because I write mostly for myself, but I kind of wanted to contribute something fun for Valentine's Day. I've rather been enjoying exploring cheesy tropes lately, and since love spell fics are some of my favourite guilty pleasures, I thought I'd try my own. It's unbeta'd, full of mistakes, far too many clichés, commas and cheese I'm sure, but hopefully someone will enjoy it. This ain't a triumph of writing folks, it's just a little fun! Happy Valentine's Day :)

Fortunately, they were already halfway home when the effects started to kick in. Had he not already been paying close attention, he might have missed his symptoms entirely. It was nothing but a sudden spike in temperature; perhaps a light tug coming from the doldrums of his stomach. So far. The grudging gift of experience dictated that it would likely get much worse before it would get better. 

“You okay?”

Okay, so maybe his breathing was getting a bit Darth-y, too. He tried to calm himself down, focusing on long exhalations. For once, he was actually glad he’d suffered Sam’s yoga fixation by osmosis, but more glad still that his brother was driving with his giant foot to the floor. 

“M’fine,” Dean grunted. His forehead was pressed to Baby’s cool glass, but it soon beaded with sweat anyhow. 

“We’ll find the summoning ritual as soon as we get in. I already called Cas when you were out and he’s looking through the library now. He DID ask _why_ he was doing that, by the way.”

Dean’s stomach lurched.

“ _No_ ,” he groaned.

Sam’s head snapped up from the road momentarily. 

“He’s gonna figure it out sooner or later, Dean, it’s not like-”

“I said no, dammit!” Dean barked, this time. His penance was instant as he folded himself over the wound in his side, wincing. He took a steadying breath.

“Sam, he can’t-”

The end of the sentence was left to be devoured by the merciful roar of the Impala’s engine. Sam however, wasn’t so sparing. 

“Dean, you know it’s fine if-”

“Don’t,” he growled. “I don’t need a fucking heart-to-heart ontop of all this Hallmark crap, okay?”

“It’s not _crap_ Dean, Jesus.”

The sign for Lebanon zipped by and his heart hurled itself against his Adam’s apple. Whether it was in protest or anticipation he wasn’t sure, but either way dread knotted itself at the back of his throat as they made their final approach to the bunker. 

“I know Sam.” he conceded, barely above a whisper. “I know. But I can’t. Not like this. Please.” 

It was the most he’d ever admitted to out loud, and he’d be dammed if he was about to elaborate. 

Mercifully, Sam heaved a lengthy sigh and nodded his floppy head. Dean half-heartedly resented the pitiful look aimed his way, but the ensuing silence was consolation enough. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t understand,” Cas groused, his sharp blue eyes pinning Sam for all he was worth. “Where’s Dean?” 

Sam took a fortifying breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like an exhausted kindergarten teacher. 

“He’s in his room. He uh, doesn’t want to be disturbed right now, Cas. Trust me.” 

“That’s _unacceptable_. You said he’d been wounded. I’m going to heal him,” the angel insisted sharply.

“It was just a flesh wound, we took care of it.”

“Well, I would prefer to-”

“He doesn’t want you to, Cas, okay?” Sam pleaded, “ _Please_ just…. Let him be, for now. I already had this fight with him on the way back.”

Though the younger Winchester trusted Castiel with his life, for a split second Sam was certain the angel was going to smite him on the spot. Cas’ already legendary rebellious streak seemed only to magnify a hundred-fold in all matters Dean-related, after all. Fortunately, the thundering expression faltered a moment later as the angel seemed to remember himself. A familiar look of forlorn uncertainty painted his features instead. 

“Is it something I did? I thought we were finally-”

“No,” Sam insisted, placing a reassuring hand on Cas’ slumped shoulder. “No, buddy. He just uh… he needs some time. It’s uh- not about you. Well, not _really_. He did want your help though, with the other stuff.”

Castiel exhaled, finally seeming resigned. He nodded tightly.

“Will you at least tell me why we’re summoning one of my more… _irritating_ brethren? It’s a complicated spell as not many are left. I’ll have to go through the whole roster, and I’d rather see if we could avoid that because it may take hours. Dean might not have that long.” 

“Sorry Cas,” was Sam’s sheepish reply. “Dean uh, well, this is sort of a last resort.”

“Very well.” 

Sam fleetingly considered disobeying his brother and just letting the Oscar-worthy shit-show happen as he was unceremoniously abandoned to Castiel’s scowling wake. 

Dean owed him big time. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was approaching 1AM when Dean finally decided he could take no more. He tore himself from his sweat-soaked sheets and launched himself to his feet with a howl of frustration. There would be no sleep tonight. Nothing had given him peace from his painful, vibrating limbs, churning belly and feverish thoughts; not TV, not porn, not polishing every weapon he owned. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of a heart attack that refused to drop the other shoe. Chamber. Whatever. His veins thrummed with the frenetic wingbeats of a hundred beehives, his vision swam, and while he felt the lure of his one remedy wrenching at him from beyond the warm grey walls, he fought the roiling hunger with every atom he possessed.

“Not like this,” he dutifully recited over and over.

The mantra had grown tattered and thin over the past few hours, but he persisted. He’d fought the Mark, for fuck’s sake. He could damn well fight this ludicrous situation. After all, Dean liked his room, liked the Bunker, and wasn’t too keen on spending the remainder of his already difficult life hiding under a rock because of a chubby guy in a toga, thank you very much.

Still, the inconveniences of his self-imposed isolation were beginning to splinter his resolve. He hadn’t eaten in hours and ‘hangry’ didn’t even begin to describe the cavernous maw working its way through his insides, though he was fully aware that the most powerful of its cravings seemed to be coming from just due south of his stomach. Either way, Cas had miraculously respected the distance without argument up until that point; it would surely be safe to venture into the kitchen - very quickly - for a glass of water, or maybe a piece of toast, right? The ~~handsome~~ angel was likely to be keeping a dutiful watch over the summoning spell anyway.

… Dean would later curse himself for forgetting how much the universe took pleasure in fucking with him. For now, he violently recoiled at the pair of concerned blue eyes awaiting him just outside his door. They were attached to 6 feet of solid, stoic angel, with a hand comically poised to knock.

“Dammit Cas, you can’t be here-” he breathed as his blood instantly erupted beneath his skin.

“I heard you calling me,” the angel returned immediately. “I was worried.”

“I wasn’t,” was Dean’s stuttered lie, his face aflame.

His pulse immediately shot into the stratosphere as the smell of summer rain- Cas - breached him, uninvited and intoxicating. He braced himself on the doorframe, fingernails etching desperate anchors into the wood. The angel’s word’s barely registered as Dean’s flesh danced with unwarranted delight at how sinfully Castiel’s lips moved to form them.

“Dean, I heard you. I can still hear you. You’ve been praying to me for hours.”

' _Not so much praying as popping a psychic boner_ ,' Dean thought wretchedly to himself, hoping the angel couldn’t pick up on any specifics.

When Dean finally mustered the nerve to look up at him, the stony resolve engraved in Cas’ features only made everything that much worse. The entire world seemed to shrink down into focus on his unrelenting gaze, helplessly sucking Dean in like a whirlpool. He knew it was the magic’s doing of course, but he also recognized that its effects were redoubled because of a decade-long flame rooted in his gut. As much as he’d resisted all these hours, it immediately struck him that he was already lost. He was a sandcastle in a hurricane. He took a teetering step back, desperate for escape, but Cas followed, sure as the tide.

“It’s alright, Dean. I know how powerful this magic can be. Angels made it, after all.”

“No, you don’t know- you…” His mouth struggled to form the words around the indefensible keen of want gurgling up from his throat.

He had to get away, but he knew it was pointless. Cas had borne witness to almost every iteration of Dean’s lowest point; he didn’t see why this would be any different, despite how much he may have wished for another outcome. Again he would fail Cas at being better, at being worthy. He could feel it as surely as the simmering in his skin.

“I know you’re in terrible pain.” Cas pressed on, calm as winter snow. His steady, rumbling voice washed over Dean, soothing and eucalyptus sharp. “I can help you.”

“Cas, man... _go_. You don’t understand,” Dean pleaded outright, no longer able to mask the desperation in his voice.

Cas regarded him calmly, the door clicking shut behind him. It was only then that Dean noticed (with some horror) how far Castiel had encroached into his sanctuary, and how his own arms had acted without permission to cage the angel's head against the wood. Still, Cas remained an unblinking portrait of serenity, unsurprisingly unruffled by the proximity. Either way, at this tantalizing range, his voice almost made Dean’s knees give out.

“Should I be insulted that you don’t think I’ve figured out why we are working so hard to summon a cupid, Dean? The case with lovers going mad… I know you were hit by that rogue’s arrow. It isn’t ‘r _ocket science_ ’.”

Dean would have laughed but he was too drunk on trying to map out Cas’ pulse point (if he even had one) with his nose.

“Yeah you’re a smart guy I get it, now all due respect, get the fuck out,” Dean snarled into his neck, every muscle taut with the extraordinary effort of keeping the boiling hysteria in his veins at bay.

“I won’t,” Cas barked right back. The resolve steeling his tone summoned a fresh swell of shudders to spill over every inch of Dean’s frame. “I know how this magic works. It wouldn't have made you react to Sam, after all. The only other option is me, and our bond _would_ activate certain…. reactions.”

Dean was almost relieved that the sudden surge of shame flooding his system was potent enough to dilute the voracious pangs of desire echoing through his body, if only for a moment. It was a brief respite however, as Cas breached the remaining space left between them. The angel considered him, placid as ever, and framed a gentle hand around Dean’s sweat-sheened cheek. The other trailed down, solid and warm, until it slid over his trembling shoulder, and down to the arrow-wound in his side, trailing blessed relief in its wake. Dean felt every tiny movement like an earthquake threatening to shatter his heart.

“Cas,” he panted, voice thready with need.

“Dean,” he breathed right back, oh so softly. Dean’s eyes were compelled to his, as inevitably as gravity. “It’s alright. I know this is a spell at work. You must let me help you now, because the summoning might take more time than you have, given that you have fought the spell for so long already. Your body is at its limit.”

Dean’s entire being stalled in pleasure as Cas’ strong fingers anchored themselves around his ribcage as the angel leaned in, and scraped his stubbled cheek along Dean’s as his mouth made its way to Dean’s ear.

“Just for a moment,” he ordered quietly, “stop resisting.”

This time, Dean made no effort to quell the desperate whine that surged from his throat. The angel had him ensnared in his trap, and he felt his tangled insides begin to fall away from the gaping wound of his offer.

In the end, he was weak.

He dipped his head for a fleeting taste, letting his lips trail the corded surface of Cas’ neck, felt the heady warmth of his skin practically undo him right there and then. The angel let him, his decadently solid hands slowly trailing up his sides and eventually taking root at the nape of his neck, digging soothing circles into his shuddering muscles.

It was unbelievable. Miraculous. And, despite the innumerable times Dean had pictured this in secluded corners of night; despite how he ached for sweet deliverance, it was all wrong. Cas was sacrificing himself again, because Dean had failed to control the situation. Dean couldn’t bear to have him used as some magical stop-gap, even while the errant spell greedily howled in his bones.

The words he wanted to say stayed lodged in his throat, sliced deadly and rough like uncut diamonds. All he had power left to do was to retreat a few scant inches while the world flushed bright with every electric touch of the angel’s fingers.

“I didn’t want this,” Dean confessed, from under a trembling breath.

“I know, Dean,” Castiel replied, graveyard solemn.

“No,” he backpedaled, “I-”

The angel waited him out as Dean ducked into his collar again, nosing the fabric open, helplessly magnetized. His control was slipping like water through his desperate, clutching fingers. He had mere seconds to explain a decade’s worth of emotion before his rational brain would permanently shut down. It was impossible, but he had to try. Cas deserved it, for the inevitable truth of what was going to happen here.

“... You deserve better than some weaponized valentine’s gimmick, Cas.”

Untethered now, his fingers slipped beneath the cheap silk knot at Cas’s throat and yanked.

“You...deserve better than me losing my grip like this… than me, period.”

Dean felt a soft gasp finally -finally- rise from Cas’s fluttering throat, just under where his lips explored.

“That’s not true, Dean,” the angel managed, breathless but certain.

Dean’s hands skated under heavy fabric until the trench and suit jacket both hit the floor. Castiel’s chest heaved beneath him, in staggering, delicious contrast to his collected presence thus far. Finally, buttons popped open and his hands smoothed over surprisingly warm flesh, and Dean was utterly lost, buried in desire and scalding remorse alike. Still, the steady weight of Cas’ palm soothing the back of his head propelled him forward.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” he gasped miserably, bracketing the angel’s solid heat with his thighs. “M'just…. I can’t…” his hips seemed to thrust of their own volition as he murmured his humiliated confession into heated skin.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Cas.”

This time, the angel intervened. Dean was brutally reminded that Castiel could have stopped the proceedings at any point, as he suddenly found himself pinned to the wall like a sputtering butterfly, wandering limbs immobilized under Cas’s steel grasp. He panted hard, finding it difficult to deny his body’s clear enjoyment of this turn of events.

“Dean.”

Dean’s gaze flickered up, eyes burning and his jaw clenched under Cas’ hold. The angel’s gaze bore into him, shockingly ravenous and slightly unhinged. Dean gasped at the sight, which up to that point, had only existed in his most private dreams.

He barely had a second to contemplate the fire he found returned in Cas’ eyes before they closed altogether and he was being soundly kissed. It should have felt momentous. Dean had built it up to earth-shattering proportions after all, after having suffered years’ worth of imagining it in mercilessly vivid detail. He fiercely longed to actually enjoy those warm, plush lips against his, but all he felt was the magic seizing out of him all at once, a tingling death throw which throttled him all the way down to his toes until he shuddered in relief. Just like that, it was over.

Cas released him, taking a sobering step back.

“That’s it?” Dean balked in disbelief. His own body confirmed as much: he felt like he’d been dunked in a cold lake; undignified gasping included.

Cas’ grip on Dean had retreated to the platonic safety of his shoulders, and the angel refused to meet his eyes.

“My brothers can be staggeringly powerful, though quite unimaginative,” he confirmed quietly, before letting his hands drop altogether. “The spell’s point is to bring its targets together, or else. Once that happens, its duty ends. In any case, the dangerous effects should be subdued for now, at least until the spell wears off entirely.”

“Cas,” Dean tried, still shaking the magical cobwebs from his head.

“You should try to get some rest. I will tell Sam that we no longer require the summoning.”

Castiel turned to leave, hastily buttoning up his wrinkled shirt and retrieving his shorn clothing from the floor. Dean was still catching his breath but managed to grab an armful of the angel, and spun him around.

“Cas, hey.”

“It’s okay Dean. I told you, you don’t need to explain.”

Dean could only huff a bitter laugh to mask his sudden terror at the idea that he’d misread the situation entirely. He’d been so certain he’d seen something in Cas’ expression too… in this instance and in others before, but maybe it was just the wishful thinking of one forced to the breaking point of a decade’s worth of pining. Either way, Dean had been on edge for hours, and brittle and tired as he was, he figured this was as good a time as any to throw himself off the proverbial cliff.

“S-so what… you just kiss a guy within an inch of his life and walk away?”

This time, Cas turned fully and regarded him with such a familiar, squinted expression of confusion that Dean couldn’t help but feel fond despite his trepidation.

“You were under the influence of a spell. I would never have left you to suffer, but I also would never take advantage,” declared Cas gravely.

Dean took a step towards the angel, emboldened by Cas’ curious choice of words.

“Advantage, huh?”

Cas, for all his infinite celestial wisdom, seemed at a complete loss. Even while it was Dean who’d been forced to act like a horny schoolboy, it was Cas who was suddenly a rigid portrait of embarrassment.

“It would have been unfair to you,” was all he said, very quietly. Dean only got a fleeting glance of the painful twist of his features before the angel was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

After a fitful night’s rest, Dean donned the most casual approximation of “aggressively blasé” he could muster before facing his brother in the kitchen. Predictably, Sam countered with his patented “concerned smirk” at him (honestly, how did he even-), but Dean cut him to the quick.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam sighed into the organic cardboard gruel he dared call breakfast.

“Yeah? Well you’re thinkin’ too loud, then.”

Unperturbed, Sam carried on.

“I was just wondering how you’re feeling.”

“I’m sure you were, Dr Phil.”

“You know what, nevermind. It’s too early for this macho overcompensation thing.”

Dean sighed deep into his bones as he dumped the bread he never got last night into the toaster and poured himself a cup of blissfully hot coffee.

“Yeah? Well unlike you, I got nothing to compensate for,” he snarked.

“Uhuh. I’m just saying, I was worried. You were in a pretty bad way, man.”

“Yeah, and now I’m not. End of story.”

Dean was looking for the conspicuously missing peanut butter when he noticed an even more telling absence.

“Cas gone?” he asked super casually.

“I haven’t seen him since he left your room last night,” Sam needled. “Y’know, to tell me that we wouldn’t be needing the spell after all. Because he was able to ‘help’ you.”

Dean froze as his infuriatingly perceptive sibling stared holes into him from below a raised brow. The toast impudently popped in the heavy silence.

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh Dean?”

Dean’s face instantly flushed.

“That’s not… it wasn’t-”

Sam abruptly folded and smacked down the paper he was reading. Clearly he hadn’t been caffeinated enough either, because Dean was besieged by a striking lack of sympathy from his usually syrupy young sibling.

“Look Dean, I don’t care about your stupid hangups okay? I really don’t. But I do care that Cas looked really upset and I haven’t seen him all morning so I’m assuming you were an asshole and always being stuck in the middle of -

“Hey wait just a goddamned minute,” Dean blustered. He wasn’t about to take the blame for the one time he actually hadn’t been an asshole (all angelic love curses aside) to his long-suffering companion. “He walked out on ME, okay?”

Sam’s eyebrows made an attempt for his hairline, but Dean felt no satisfaction. He crossed his arms and leaned heavily on the counter, toast forgotten.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’, and thanks a lot, by the way,” he sniped.

“Sorry. It’s just, of the two of you, I thought… really?”

“Yeah.” Dean admitted quietly. “He booked it right after - And get your head outta the damn gutter by the way, it’s not what you think -” he added, tossing a perfectly innocent grape at his brother’s head. Its perfect trajectory did not lighten his mood.

“Point is, it wasn’t pretty. But I tried talking to him Sam, I did.”

“Yeah? Well, he was probably too shocked about that to do anything about it,” Sam smirked, before ducking away from another fruity projectile.

“God I love our talks,” Dean muttered, taking a scalding sip of his coffee.

“I’m just saying,” Sam insisted, “you haven’t been watching from the emotionally-constipated sidelines for the past ten years like I have. The guy loves you. It’s stupidly obvious. Only someone with your level of self-loathing could miss that, because I know that you’re not THAT dumb.”

At this Dean almost choked, but when he looked up at his brother, there was nothing but - ah, there it was - dewy-eyed sincerity radiating off him like an obnoxious cotton candy fog.

“And I don’t mean in a brotherly way,” Sam clarified wryly, “I mean he loves you in a manly, sweaty, grunty way that I never want to hea-”

“OKAY, SAM.”

“Look, because you’re my big brother, I’ll say this JUST ONCE since the spell apparently solved nothing.”

Dean braced himself, clutching at his mug so hard he feared it might crack.

“If you love him Dean, just try again. Cas’ never given up on you, so… don’t give up on him. You both have given enough, and I just want you to try for whatever happiness you can get in this crappy lot we’ve been given. I know I have.”

Mortification aside, Dean had no idea how he’d managed to help raise such a grade A human, and he let himself feel goddamned proud for a second. He gave Sam a grudging nod.

“Also, I have a bet going with Eileen so….back me up here.”

“Ugh,” Dean groaned into his mug. “You’re such a bitch.”

“That’s the spirit.”


	5. Chapter 5

After a fruitless half hour of nervous meandering through the Bunker, Dean finally found Cas outside on the roof.

He knew fine well that’s where the angel had been the entire time of course, as this was his roost of choice to meditate, commune, play celestial Yahtzee, or whatever it was he did when he was bothered by something. The pantomimed search had simply given Dean an excuse to calm his nerves and his reeling breakfast. It hadn’t worked obviously, and Dean felt like he was marching straight into a root canal.

Either way, it was too late to retreat now because he knew Cas had heard him the second he’d taken his first step up the spiraling metal stairs.

The day was bright but overcast, and Dean found the angel perched on the concrete, as was his habit. He sat still as a statue with his arms civilly folded over his lap and his legs dangling precariously over the edge. He was skywards as Dean approached, as though he could read something in the thick blanket of cloud. He probably could.

“Hello, Dean.” he greeted as per usual, as though absolutely nothing had changed.

Dean swallowed squarely over the foot in his throat.

“Hey. See anything up there?”

“No, not anymore.”

The angel’s mournful eyes were resolutely trained heavenwards as he spoke, and Dean was beginning to regret this entire attempt.

“But I like the view,” Cas offered after a moment.

“I bet,” Dean agreed.

He took a breath and sat himself down next to Cas, creaking knees and fear of heights be damned.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Cas intercepted. Keen little bastard.

The offer of an out was familiar and more than a little tempting, but for once in his repressed life, Dean was determined not to take it. The impending threat of fratricide helped.

“Yeah well, see, I think we do.”

“You weren’t yourself.”

Dean sighed.

“Maybe not entirely but, I wasn’t… not myself, either.”

Dean Articulate Winchester, he was.

He scrubbed his face with his hands while he wrestled with his tongue.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dean. I know what that was.”

“Okay well… maybe I don’t,” was his brilliant counterpoint.

Dean was itching to stomp the hell on out of there as the levels of awkwardness neared terminal, but he stifled his recoil. No matter how obtuse Cas was being in this moment, Dean knew he hadn’t imagined that split second of heat he’d found reflected in the angel’s eyes, nor the telling choice of words Cas had used to justify his retreat. Nope, he was gonna sit there and hash this out if it killed him.

“It was an unpleasant solution for you, and I’m sorry to have embarrassed you,” Cas began for him suddenly, “That being said, summoning a cupid would have taken hours that you possibly didn’t have. I did what I had to and I don’t regret it.”

“Whoa whoa, Cas, I get that. It’s okay,” Dean interrupted, hands raised in surrender. “I’m grateful you didn’t let me turn into an enchanted horndog. I am.”

At this, Castiel deflated some, but his expression was stormy as he veered it on Dean.

“Then what?”

Dean swallowed, steeling himself.

“You said…. You didn’t want to take advantage of me. That it would be unfair to me. It’s… just uh… a funny choice of words, and I’ve been told once or twice that you don’t get words wrong.”

He could almost hear the angel’s spine go rigid as he nervously licked his lips, looking up and away once more.

“Dean, don’t.” Cas pleaded with a voice of molten steel.

Though his Grace was impaired, the angel had that twitchy look about him that usually signified Dean would soon be talking to empty air, so he seized the rare occasion to press on.

“Cas, I really need to know what you meant. Throw me a bone here because if you feel-.”

“Dean,” Cas interjected miserably, his eyes shining, “I rebuilt you from scattered, Hell-scorched atoms. I’ve held your soul in my hands. I fell from Heaven for you. In billions of years of existence, you’re the only thing that has made any of it worthwhile, to me. How do you think I feel? I fail to see how reiterating my love for you helps this situation in any way.”

Fireworks exploded in Dean’s gut, frantic and joyous, but he managed to tamper them enough to compose himself, even while discomfort radiated off his best friend in tangible waves. He hoped he could soon abate them, if only he could successfully trudge through the swamp of feelings laid bare before him.

“Well, it helps to hear it….” Dean croaked, trembling despite himself.

“I’m so glad my humiliation is useful to you,” the angel snapped, turning in on himself. “I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time.”

This train was veering off track faster than Dean could even process. He’d never fathomed the truth of it all would come out so… angrily, but he found he wasn’t entirely surprised. He and Cas weren’t exactly eligible for any prizes in stellar communication.

“Dammit Cas, it’s not that,” he scrambled peevishly, staring at the side of Cas’s crumpled expression.

“Then what? You said you ‘ _didn’t want it to be like that_ ’ between us,” Cas went on in confusion, “and I have always respected that. I would never betray your trust; I know the situation was not real. ”

His gaze was locked on something deep in the cosmos where Dean couldn’t see, and he whispered “As much as I may have wished it.”

A heavy pause wedged its way between them before Dean found his words.

“I know what I said, man,” Dean acknowledged quietly. “But you never let me finish.”

At this, Cas finally looked at him. The striking blues made Dean falter as they always did, but he swallowed down his thundering heart.

“I said I didn’t want it to be like that,” Dean confessed feebly, “but I _did_ want it, Cas. For so long. Still do."

He licked his lips nervously while he let that settle in, before going on. "Look it was all real, okay? I just... What I meant was that I wish it hadn’t been a damned love spell that finally kicked me in the ass - I mean do you even know how stupid that is - I may never live it down, but the point is: I’ll fucking take it, okay? If it means that we- well, I’ll take it. ”

Cas seemed entirely petrified for a long moment, almost as though he were treading down his own personal green mile. There was a silence painfully long enough to make Dean wonder if he’d utterly fucked up, here.

“I want to make sure I understand,” Castiel tiptoed after an age, weighing each word with the gravity of a newborn planet.

Despite the skull-crushing tension, Dean couldn’t help but grin just a little, at the angel’s parted lips, tilted head and severely furrowed brow. He didn’t really blame Cas for needing convincing.

“Okay,” Dean nodded softly.

He rustled up what courage he had left, took one of the angel’s hands in both of his and brought the battle-rough knuckles to his lips. He kissed them with slow reverence, so there could be no mistaking his intent.

“Stupid magic arrow or not, it’s always been you, okay? That’s what I’m saying. And I know I’ve been a scared, unworthy piece of shit Cas - still am - but, I want to try, if you do. I just… never thought you did. Or could.”

There was hope brimming in Cas’ thoughtful gaze as it rose to meet Dean’s, and he decided it was the best look to ever have graced Cas’ features.

‘Finally- finally,’ Dean thought, as Cas’ body turned towards him and he closed in, only to have his hands batted away and his temples promptly squashed by sturdy palms a moment later.

In fact, the angel grabbed at Dean’s entire face with all the subtleness of a vice, angling his head to and fro with spine-crunching intensity under his scrutiny. Dean wasn’t a Hallmark guy by any stretch of the imagination, but this was a bit rough even for him.

“Ow! Cas what the hell are you-”

“I’m making sure,” the angel explained soberly, prying Dean’s eyes open with his thumbs and forefingers as he peered into them with empirical dedication.

“Fuck off, I’m not under the spell anymore, dammit!” Dean groused, squirming aimlessly. Castiel finally released him, his features clearing.

“No, you aren’t,” he confirmed with a quiet sort of wonderment.

“God you’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” Dean grumbled.

Cas grinned guiltily.

“Well, pardon me if after a decade I was slightly suspicious.”

Dean cleared his throat, cheeks blazing and arms crossed in mock affront.

“Whatever man. Guy spills his heart out to you and you try to decapitate him. That’s real nice, Cas… real romantic,” he grouched.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel laughed. It was such a rare and gorgeous sound that it caused Dean to turn back towards him with a mirroring smile of his own. It only widened when Cas reached over and cupped his jaw in gentle invitation, raw wonder alight in his eyes.

“Please tell me again, then,” Castiel asked, “I’ll believe you this time.” By the time he leaned in, Dean was already there to meet him.

“ _‘Fuck off, I’m not under the spell anymore, dammit’_ ,” Dean recited cheekily against Cas’ lips, his heart pounding, before Cas endeavoured to shut him up.

The kiss was tame compared to the previous night’s inferno, but it was everything Dean had ever wanted, from Cas’ rainstorm scent drowning him to the pleasantly rough scrape of stubble against his mouth. Now that he wasn’t besieged by spasms of celestial sorcery, he was free to delight in the sensation of Cas’s hair between his fingers, and to truly marvel at the softness of those lips he’d imagined for so long. Their meeting was unhurried and tender, but it carried the sort of heated promises which sowed shivering flames along Dean’s skin. That sweet anticipation alone was enough to buoy Dean’s disappointment when they both pulled back to catch their breath.

“Damn, shoulda tried that years ago,” Dean sighed.

“Yes,” Cas easily agreed, melting into Dean’s space like he’d always belonged there.

Cas’ hands seemed to roam of their own volition as he watched Dean from this new vantage, framing his jaw, embracing his shoulders and sweeping over his chest with veneration and care so profound it stunned Dean into silence. He could only meet them with his own, squeezing tightly at their passage.

“Well,” Cas mused gently after a time, as he pressed their foreheads together “If I am formally allowed to take advantage of you now, we can make up for lost time whenever you’d like.”

...Fuck.

“Hell yeah, Dean grinned, “Consider your permission officially granted.”


End file.
